Remember When
by loveofwrittenword
Summary: Six-part series of a love, and life, which defined the words - Remember When. Edward/Rose. AH.
1. Remember When

Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement is meant.

**Remember When**

"_Remember when,_

_I was young and so were you._

_And, time stood still. _

_Love was all we know. _

_You were the first; so was I. _

_Made love, and then you cried. _

_Remember when __. . ._"—_Alan Jackson_

. . .

Edward's POV

.

Everything we are and had ever been leads up to this moment. If possible, I would reach out and touch each memory, each whimper from echoes past: not all were happy and not all were sad, yet each is perfection in their infancy, in their maturity.

But with the culmination overwhelming me, nothing can measure up to this moment. To this moment – about to become a new memory.

I look to her, beyond beautiful to my frail eyesight. Sometimes, I wish my eyes were somehow magnified, somehow perfected. Then I could take in her pure beauty, the one residing in her soul.

All I can see is the outward appearance, and though sublime, I want to see the very soul. What would it be like to touch it, to allow such purity to swirl through my fingers? I cannot imagine.

But despite my human fragilities, I look at her. Lightly she bites her bottom lip as her lashes flutter. The pulse at her neck is beating recklessly, pumping the up and down. I can only imagine how hard her heart must be beating, how longing it is for what we can (and will) make together.

Her violet eyes take in everything. She stares shyly at my face, my fingers squirming around each other, my nervousness, my heavy breathing, my utter tangible love for her. It is all there for her glowing violets to see, to capture and keep close to her thumping heart.

"You're so beautiful, Rose," I whimper, unable to hold the declaration in any longer. Literally, it is quite painful; everything I feel for her, ache for her. "_So_ beautiful."

My restless hand falls over my heart, taking in each resounding thump. _For her. Each patter. Each movement._

And somehow, as I take in every aspect of her, every nuance her face eloquently tells me, I know she understands my adoration for her. It is boundless; unstoppable and penetrating.

As if reading my mind – reading into the very depths my body can reach – her arms extend to me. Her eyes are so bright with the love we are trying to contain. But it seems impossible; almost too much to live within us. _How is __**such love endured**_?

Helplessly I fall into her embrace. The thought of even spending another second away is unbearable.

Our bodies shudder deliciously as she pulls me to her, blissfully aligning, touching at every place available. Even over our meager clothing, I can feel the utter heat pouring from her body and seeping into mine. It reaches to my very marrow.

I know my body lying on hers must be heavy, but she refuses my offer to move. Her arms rest along my lower back as she twists her legs over the back of my calves.

Her chest pushes into mine as our breathing becomes synchronized. Pale, golden hair spills about her face, over the pillow and on to the sheets. It seems depthless. My fingers happily become lost in the golden tresses as I balance on my forearms.

Slowly I bend down, being sure to never take my eyes from hers. Little escaped breathes are hot on my lips, but I swallow them, wanting to experience everything that this woman offers.

It becomes too much as the need to close our eyes overcomes us. My lids block out the light, but I can still see a blinding aura. And it doesn't matter, or it all falls to the wayside as our lips finally, _finally_, reach.

My inhalation is too painful and I can't seem to take in enough air. Many times we've kissed, indulged in this beautiful act, but it is now more . . . leading to a culmination of so many things experienced and built upon.

Regardless, I am ready. We are ready. The pounding of our hearts, shallow breathes and penetrating gazes were normal for us, especially when in intimate situations. Us deciding to take it all the way wouldn't change such reactions, only amplify them to extremes.

I push all thought from my eager mind, all but the reactions we are creating together. As our lips meld – mine sliding over and between her more malleable ones – my hands become clenched in her hair. Happily it tangles in my fingers as our lips work in messy kisses. Tongues push into each other's mouths as bodies start to react to the intense heat.

It all seems instinctual. It always has with Rosalie Hale.

For good or bad.

.

.

.

_The first time I saw her, I hated her. It didn't matter the weather or what else was happening around me. My eyes simply landed on her and instantly she became the entirety of my hatred for everything in this town. _

_Having to move in one's junior year of high school is never easy, fun, or even advisable. But no matter how much I shouted, reasonably argued or almost cried, it didn't matter: my father had accepted a position at some small, no-name hospital and thus our family was moving. _

_One might think change necessary and healthy for a society at whole (and to some extent it is), but for myself – in general – change wasn't acceptable. I didn't want to move from sunny Southern California to some backwoods town named after an eating utensil. Seriously, who were these people and how were they able to come up with such an asinine name?_

_Regardless of the answers and my personal opinion, my family packed up, and made the road trip to Forks, Washington: population . . . who the hell cared. _

_Thankfully my oh-so-caring father gave me the summer to get my affairs in order, say goodbye to my friends, kiss my girlfriend adieus, and have my stuff packed. He thought it ample enough time. _

_After arriving in dripping Forks, settling into our new house, and trying to block out my mother's excitement, school started up. _

_During the week prior to school beginning, my parents had all but begged me to leave the house, my music (the only thing which now made me happy), and the peaceful solitude of my room and try to make friends. _

_Who the hell were they kidding? What did they think, this was the 1950's: where I'd go down to the local malt-shop, buy a root beer float and merrily introduce myself to the local teen-scene? Where I once thought my parents cool and in touch with me, I now thought them to be just as lame and selfish as any other set of parents. _

_Concerned they might have been for me and my current situation, but they'd given up that right when they demanded we were moving, despite my opinion._

_I wanted nothing to do with them . . . their concern . . . or this watery town that was void of the sun. _

_So the first day of school was upon me. After waking up late, and having my ass chewed out by my father for delaying the inevitable, I made my way to this _Forks High School_. _

_To say first impressions were lasting was an overstatement. Sadly this school seemed to make no impression on me whatsoever. Everything was wet, all the cars looked older than my parents (combined), and the students looked to be curious busy-bodies that had nothing better to do than gossip about the local rainfall amount. Where the hell had my parents taken me?_

_Torturously, I pulled myself from my expensive car, strapped my name brand shoulder bag over my chest and hoped my new Rex-30's resembled shoes after this continual rain had their way with them. _

_With ear-bud in my ear – hopefully sending the right message to the students – and my uncaring facial features set, I all but swam to the main office. _

_I collected my schedule and waited for the guidance counselor to stop blushing every time she looked in my direction. Weren't there laws against school staff perv-ing on innocent and unsuspecting students? Even I had to smirk at my sarcasm. _

_With my newly printed yet slightly damp schedule (. . . not from the rain but from the counselor's sweaty palms) I made my way to first period. _

_I could see my fellow students staring at me, simply waiting for the opportunity to come and ask me what I'm sure are pertinent questions regarding myself. _

_Thankfully, they could at least take a hint and simply moved as I walked down the hallway. If one could call opened corridors that. Seriously, didn't these people know it rained and thus closed hallways were advisable? _

_Before the bell was able to ring, and count me tardy, I found a set in the back of the class, took out the ear buds and waited for what I'm sure was going to be a scintillating lecture on American history. Thankfully I wasn't holding my breath with anticipation. _

_After roll was called, and after I had to obligingly introduce myself to the masses, I opened my notebook and waited for the lecture to begin. Because whether I wanted to be here or not, or because whether I found this place to be my personal hell, I wasn't willing to sacrifice my grades. They were my personal achievement, and I didn't believe in wasting my time on this whole "higher-achievement" learning. _

_I still wanted my father to be proud of me, though I wouldn't admit it aloud; my anger was still too prevalent._

_Five minutes into the lecture, with people paying more attention to me than the lesson material, the classroom door opened. I wanted to scowl. Was it really that difficult to be on time? Was it really so difficult to be present and accounted for with everyone else? What made you so special that being late hardly mattered?_

_Instead of voicing my questions aloud, I watched with the rest of the students as she walked into the class, made an off-handed apology (or what I perceived to be one) and sat at the only available desk – yes, right in front of me. _

_Sadly, I had to remove my shoes from the seat as she sat down and hurriedly tried to catch up with the rest of us. _

_I swallowed down my annoyance, and tried for the rest of the lesson not to be distracted. The light scent of her perfume was nauseating (or so I told myself); the artificial light catching her golden hair was diverting; the way she carried herself was obviously practiced for hours in front of a shiny object, I'm sure; and the scratching of her pencil along paper was grating. Honestly, who even used pencils anymore?_

_With a head full of steam and anger built over the hour, I now had my target: the person whom I put all of my hate and anger for this place on. _

_I didn't stop to think if it was unfair or unprovoked. I simply knew I hated this place, these people, and this girl who thought herself above and better than everyone else. _

_Her name: Rosalie Hale. Occupation: Edward Cullen's hatred. _

_Perhaps my father was right and I needed to check my attitude and sarcasm. _

.

.

.

I pull from our first meeting back to the present. Our lips part with a wet pop and I can see the desire soaking into her darkening purple irises.

We may be eighteen and still young, but we both know this to be the right decision for us.

The way she runs her feet over my calves, the way her nails lightly scrape my back, the way she quietly moans as our bodies move together is enough to convince us both we are making the right decision.

I can't help but stare at her swollen-red lips, tangled hair, flushed cheeks and stubble-scratched skin.

_Should've shaved_, I can't help but think, _but Rose has like me with a day's growth_.

In essence, she is the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen. Even when I thought myself to hate her, I knew she was beautiful, no matter how much I tried to deny it.

"Edward," she whimpers beautifully. Her white teeth sink into her puffy bottom lip.

I unravel my left hand from her hair to tenderly brush away the moisture gathering on her forehead.

"Hmm, love," I mumble into her check, nuzzling her dewy-soft skin.

"You want to, right?" The shyness in her voice is enough to slightly curb my lust. I pull back to look into her vulnerable eyes.

Never could I understand someone so exquisite to have such a lack of confidence. What I had first perceived to be snobby behavior from her was simply a guard-wall.

She protected herself from every discernible threat. Her heart and self-esteem had been battered too many times. In too many painful ways.

"More than I could possibly say, Rose." And no words from me have been truthfully whispered before. "Do you still want to?"

A hopeful yet shyly confident smile overtakes her lips. _So damn sexy_.

"Yes."

I grin back at her, pushing the lower half of my body into the cradle of her thighs.

"Any other silly questions?" I tease playfully between nuzzles to her neck.

"Baby," she gasps between her giggles and shivering body. I can tell her emotions – like my own – are at war. Levity trying to overtake our surmounting passion.

I sigh as our combined scents and the feel of her skin on my lips overwhelms me.

"I love you," I can't help but murmur into her flesh, trying to imprint the words there.

Hands pull at my cheeks, as she tries to get my attention. I give it all to her, happily becoming lost in her gaze.

"Now, Edward. I want you now; always . . ."

Years from now, I know looking back I would smile when thinking about our first time and how sugary-sweet it was. But the words and the sweetness of the moment never turned me off. In fact it was our innocence and our longing passions which had fueled us on. The want and desire to feel whole within each other.

Her tears had brought on my own. My fulfillment triggered hers. Her shuddering became my own. My breaths mingled with hers. Our spent bodies cradled the others, sweat dropped, hands entangled, skin melted into the others.

And while I was still buried deeply within her and the stillness of the moment blanketed us, she whispered, voice raspy, "Will it always be like this?" My glazed eyes sought out hers.

I wanted to answer that every moment would be this transcended, this time-stilling. But I couldn't. The only thing I could offer her was my love and adoration.

Our chapped lips connected on a breathy exhale, our numb tongues swirled together, and I could feel myself starting to respond again.

"Love you."

Words and expressions of adulation were lost as passion once again consumed us.

Everything faded to grey beside the girl whom my world was consumed by.

Never would I have guessed such hatred on my part was a prelude to what I had really felt for her. First impressions were not the be-all-end-all. My love and enduring affection for her was.

.

* * *

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Author's Notes: Thanks for reading. The next part will be updated soon.


	2. Joy and Hurt

Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns. No copyright infringement is meant.

**Joy and Hurt**

"_Remember when …_

_We vowed the vows, and walked the walk,_

_Gave our hearts, made the start, it was hard,_

_We lived and learned, life threw curves_

_There was joy, there was hurt_

_Remember when …"_ —_Alan Jackson_

. . .

Edward's POV

.

Not all walks of life are happy, or leave one feeling whole for infinite moments, and perhaps that's how it's meant to be. Or so I remind myself.

Yet as she walks towards me, simple white dress flowing behind her, it hardly matters that not many are here to witness this. So much of my life seems invested in this woman, and I truly don't want it another way. Beautiful music accompanies each step she takes towards me. Even her brilliant smile cannot be dimmed.

Instead of the traditional wedding march, our song plays softly over a stereo as she comes to me. Her golden hair is only brightened by the sun as violet eyes sparkle with eloquently happy tears. I know she feels no sadness on this day. It's something we've both promised each other not to feel.

For once, we put aside the drama leading up to this blessed occasion and focus on what's important and everlasting: our love. I know my thoughts seem too sugary, but I make allowances for today. During his wedding, a man is entitled to be disgustingly sweet and flowery in both thought and speech. The fact that my bride inspires so much more in me is rightly understood and doesn't need excuse.

As she reaches me and our hands extent out for each other, everything else flees from my mind. In the face of such exquisiteness how could it not.

Brilliant tears makes her eyes look like a watery purple jewel, but the smile on her face eclipses even the eyes I love so much. If possible, I would say her smile stretches for miles and I wonder if mine looks the same.

"I love you," I can help but silently mouth to her, willing her to feel the uttermost depths of my affection for her. So much is coursing through me, but the thing which remains constant is my abiding love and a certainty in knowing we are making the correct decision.

When she looks at me with such devotion and trust it only affirms our decision all the more.

I can hear a camera clicking and wind rustling over the white-capped waves, but even the noise cannot draw my full attention away from Rosalie.

I squeeze her hand as I listen to the words I'm asked to repeat. I, Edward, will always take my Rose in heart, spirit and body, putting her before me in everything, never denying her my love, affection and all that I have. Whether in sickness or in health I will love her for eternity.

Hearing her repeat the vowels we make and the promises we whisper to each other are eloquently reiterated in her lovely violet eyes: the window to her exquisite spirit.

As the officiator gives me permission to kiss my wife – the person I want to love forever – my hands cup around her wet cheeks and pull her closer to my wanton, waiting lips. As our spoken promises are sealed with our fervent kisses, a smattering of applause can hardly be heard.

Feeling both over-elated and cheeky, I dip my new wife (her golden tresses touching the sand) and cover her excited giggles with my hungry lips. I cannot imagine myself ever getting enough of this woman before me.

"I love you, Rosalie Cullen," I mumble between kisses, my mouth still touching hers.

"I love you, Edward Hale," she jokes, trying to laugh, kiss and push her love through me all at once. "Edward Cullen . . . my husband."

After thoroughly kissing her mouth cheeks and once on her ivory neck, I pull her back up and encircle her waist. We both turn to those who have witnessed our first step in to marriage and bask in their gaiety and happiness.

I know some of our friends cannot understand our need to marry so young or our immense connection that we share, but the fact that they are even hear speaks so much louder than their doubts.

Even Rosalie's tipsy mother has come to watch our wedding. Though we both know her to be a gold-digger, I appreciate her being here nonetheless.

_So much more than I can say for my parents_ . . .

But I push the dismal thoughts from me. I refuse to be anything but happily fulfilled on this glorious day. Rosalie's arm clasped tightly around me and the feel of her excited heart beating into my mine overcomes anything negative. Too much beauty is before me to allow darkness to overshadow. It doesn't matter about my parent's refusal to accept my wife . . . _my wife_; I love the sound of that.

.

.

Three months before

—

"Edward, you cannot be serious. Take a moment to think about what you just said." I want to laugh mirthlessly at my parents. I want to rage and scream at them for not supporting me, but most of all, I want to take away the hurt look from my fiancée's face as she studies my parents and their terrible disapproval.

From the beginning of our relationship my parents have frowned on Rosalie and the supposed drama she's brought into my life. After learning we were a couple and hearing the rumors of my new girlfriend from 'concerned neighbors', my parents have discouraged me from dating her.

"_Such awful rumors about her past, son." . . ._

"_That boy's family had to move."_

"_Wild and loved to party." . . ._

"_Her morals are reported to be terribly skewed, Edward darling. Surely you see how that must reflect on you and your reputation. We only want the best for you." . . ._

"_Her mother is an awful lush and hardly even sober enough to watch over her teenage daughter."_

No matter how much I argued or try to persuade them otherwise, my parents refused to budge. And I guess, me too.

Sadly they refused to really "see" Rosalie Hale and the beautifully soft person she was. Granted Rose hadn't allow me to tell my parents of her anguish and all that really happened in her past, but that shouldn't have mattered. My love and acceptance of her should have been enough for my parents. Never had I known them to be so jaded and cynical towards a person before.

"I know what I said, mother." I tighten my grasp around Rose's hand, trying to infuse all the love I feel for her into the warm flesh. I will it to go from my heart to her.

"Then you must hear how absurd and crazy it sounds."

"There is nothing crazy about our wishes. You may not approve and you may not like it, but this is the most _logical_ next step for us."

Disbelieving laughter makes it way from Esme Cullen. I can tell how much my mother thinks I am – quote on quote – "throwing away _my_ life and making the biggest mistake of _my_ life" with Rose, but she won't dissuade me.

"Esme, please," my father intones, trying to infuse some calm into the situation, but I know both my mother and I are past that point. We are too much like each other: stubborn to a fault.

"No Carlisle! _Our_ son is throwing his life away, at the age of eighteen, Carlisle . . . _eighteen_, to marry this girl!"

"Esme," my father says a little more harshly, but his wife refuses to back down.

"And what for? What is the logical possible reason that they have to be married now? NOW! Even before his first semester of college. What has she done to our son, Carlisle?"

Harsh tears sting my eyes as I take in my mother's angry face. Always I have been closer to her than my father. But as I take in her angry face and disbelieving words about Rose and myself, I cannot help but fight the tears wanting to spill.

As if sensing my overwhelming emotions, my loving girlfriend, brings our clasped hands to her lips and kisses my shaking fingers. She is pure gold.

Before my father or I can answer or try to further calm my mother, all of us hear my softly spoken Rose murmur, "Mrs. Cullen, please. Edward and I love each other. I know you may not like me much or approve of our wanting to get married, but I only want what is best for Edward. My intention is never to hurt him . . . or you both," she gestures with her free hand to my parents, "but I love him with everything in me."

I know it's taken a lot for Rose to speak up. Sadly she is scared of my parents and their disapproval of her. But most of all she doesn't want me fighting with them. She doesn't want to cause a rift between us. And though I understand her concerns and love her all the more for them, I have to be free to live my life. And no retaliation from my parents or threatening will pull me from her.

"If you loved him as you claim, girl, you wouldn't want him wasting his life on you or this sham of a marriage. My son is meant for bigger and better things and to think —"

Before she can finish her angry rant, I stand up and gently pull Rose with me. My ears, heart and love have taken enough.

"Enough!" I say emphatically. Screams may not be leaving my lips, but I am sure to make my words as forceful as possible. "Simply enough."

I try and will my tears from falling, but they won't be waylaid. This is what fighting with my parents and having my sensitive Rose here to witness it has reduced me to.

Thankfully my mother stops her bitter diatribe towards my girl and looks at me as if surprised.

"Growing up, I've been a witness to my parent's amazing love story. You've loved and supported dad in both his career and life. You may not have always been happy and he may not have always been around because of his job, but you've always been there for him, mom. Your love for each other overcame every trial and obstacle . . ."

"Edward," my parents simultaneously say, but I won't be stopped. It's my turn.

"And because of that, I wanted something similar. I wanted my wife to love and cherish me through the good times and bad times. Through happiness and mistakes I may make, because I am far from perfect.

I look to Rose, my best friend and lover, telling her so expressively through my eyes how much she is that girl for me and how much I love her, regardless.

"Somewhere along the way, I seemed to have forgotten that. I became selfish and conceited. I may not have bullied or knowingly been mean to people, but I was quite the little shit.

Sweet giggles leave Rose's parted lips. It was a running joke between us, given that I was quite the shit to her in the beginning.

"But the beginning of my junior year, after not even wanting to move here to begin with, I laid eyes on the most beautiful person I've ever seen. Not just physically, but in every way that truly matters. And my world shifted. For the better . . . even if I didn't know it at first."

Tears pour from my girl violet orbs as she softly studies me. I can see so much radiating from within her. But her two whispered words, "love you" say it all.

Our beginning may not have been the most romantic, but through being assigned partners for a class assignment and seeing past my contrived hatred for her, Rosalie became this other person to me. Unknowingly beguiling. I fell head over foot in love with her before I realized it myself. And hadn't stopped falling since.

I turn back to my parents with Rose's love fluttering within me. From here the words spoken and the decision I make is quite easy. "I don't need your blessings or approval, but oh how I wanted them. You gave me life and a wonderful one at that. And I love you both. But I have to live my life. Whether that makes me sound like a brat or ungrateful for everything you've done, I'm not sure and I'm sorry. But I love Rose and I am going to marry her at the end of the summer. You're welcome to come or not come. But I've had enough of your hatred of my future wife, mom and dad. And I'm done."

I give them one more meaningful look before tightening my hold on Rosalie's hand before gently pulling her from said hatred.

As we leave through the front door and make our way to my car, I can hear my parents coming toward us.

But I don't stop. I've said my peace and the ball is in their court.

I open the passage door for my love and wait for her to get in the car before making my way to the driver side. My mother's pleas for me to stop and think about the mistake I'm about to make roll off my back like water. I'm done.

And whether it ends up a mistake or the greatest adventure of my life, I know it to be the correct and right decision. Everything within me screams that this is the right path for me.

Driving away and feeling Rose's lovingly warm fingers tangled with mine is only further affirmation that I'm doing the right thing.

I cautiously turn to her again, wanting to make sure she is okay. As I express my love for her, she reaffirms hers at the same time. We both smile silly like teenagers on a first date. And though my heart is heavy, my soul is lightened with Rosalie Hale's love for me.

.

.

Present

—

"Have I told you how unbelievably magnificent you look today, love?" I happily ask.

After a thoughtful lunch-in given to us by our friends at a nice restaurant and more pictures taken of us and those who attended our wedding, we made our way to our chosen hotel.

"As much as I've told you how handsome you are and how much you make me happy, Edward?" she recants. We both smile joyful smiles at each other, silently answering each other's questions.

I become serious, as I start to pull out the pins holding Rosalie's hair back. My thirsty eyes take in everything about my wife and her splendor. For surely she is the most sublime woman to grace this earth. My love for her overflows from every part of my body. I wonder if it creates a tangible blanket around us. Insulating us from anything ever wanting to hurt or break.

"Let me make love to you tonight, honey," I whisper hoarsely. Though I usually don't use such an old term as "making love", I find the words quite fitting and magical tonight.

"If I get to love you in return, Edward . . ."

"Always, lovely Rose," I whisper as my lips brush against hers. "Always."

It is a motto to which I hope to live the rest of my life with her.

.

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Author's Notes: Hope you enjoyed part two of five. Thank you to those who read and **reviewed**. It means a lot that you even find interest in my little story! Until next week, much love.


	3. Came Together, Fell Apart

Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns. No copyright infringement is meant.

**Came Together, Fell Apart**

"_Remember when …_

_Old ones died and new were born_

_And life was changed, dissembled, rearranged_

_We came together, fell apart_

_And broke each other's hearts_

_Remember when …" _—_Alan Jackson_

. . .

Edward's POV

.

The computer chair lightly squeaks as I rock back and forth, trying to nurse my oncoming headache. Some might think the squeaking noise counter-intuitive, but it actual helps to calm me, sort of like an old friend. The night is a blessed relief and the view from my office window is passable; nothing to write home about, but still pleasant.

With the lights low and the apartment quiet, it's difficult to avoid thinking about our fight. It seems no matter how many times we have this argument nothing gets accomplished or really said . . .

"_Why can't we try now, honey? I know you have other priorities, but I know we can do this!" I sigh in frustration. _

"_I have school, Rose. Why won't you let me finish before taking on this next big adventure? You know it's going to completely change our lives! Can't you be happy with just me, even for the time being?" My hands make rough passes through my already messy hair. _

"_It's not that I'm unhappy with you, Edward. I just feel as if we can expand our lives and our love. We have so much to give and I know you'll do so well. You succeed at everything you put your mind to, baby."_

_I exhale loudly._

"_Rosalie, please listen to me . . . just until I finish school. Please, let me first finish school and then we'll think about expanding our family. Can you please, please allow me that?" _

_Silence . . . _

"_What will be the excuse after that, Edward? I need to start my career . . . I need to become established in my career . . . we should buy a house first . . . Just give us a little more time to be us? What will the excuse be, Edward? . . . because there will always be a reason, honey."_

_Looking at her forlorn . . . "We're at an impasse, Rose. I want to finish school, and it seems no matter how much I promise you otherwise, you won't believe me when I say we can start trying after that. Why won't you believe me, honey?"_

_Tears cloud her beautifully uncertain eyes . . . "I just want what my heart wants, Edward. And obvious, yours wants what it wants too. An impasse to say the least._"

She walked away after that, probably for the best. Sometimes after we have this argument, we start yelling at each other. And the screams break my heart more than anything. Well, not withstanding my wife's tears, which I know are truly genuine. She wouldn't use something so puerile as a game to hurt me further. They are sadly a real manifestation of her heart breaking, too.

Interestingly enough before we got married, we talked about children. We both agreed we wanted kids, and settled on no more than four, which is a lot even for me. The terrible thing is we never really talked about timing and when to have said kids. I always envisioned them coming later in life, after I was (granted!) established in my career and both Rose and I stable in our marriage. She, on the other hand, saw them much sooner – a mere year after marriage.

I didn't doubt that my Rose would be a terrific mother. I knew it was ingrained in her every fiber. But the fact that we would be barely twenty when our first child was born and us still in school trying to make ends meet, I couldn't fathom bringing a child into that kind of life.

I am just entering my third year of college, and trying to fast track it at that. With my wanting to be a doctor, I still had a ways to go. With four years of medical school and residencies to complete, I still had a hell of a ways to go.

Thus bringing me to my current predicament and aching head. No matter how I looked at the situation, I couldn't find a viable option to either one of us being happy. If I got my way, my wife was unhappy . . . if my wife got her way, I was unhappy.

Granted, I would love any child we created together and gave life to, but I knew it would be an unnecessary burden on us at the time and only add more stress to our lives. If I thought our arguments heated now, I could only imagine what they'd be after little to no sleep and tempers flaring. Not a pretty picture of happy family, that's for sure.

So I rock in my chair, hoping for some divine intervention or some solution to this constant argument. Rose and I hardly fight about anything, and most of our friends think we are disgustingly, nauseatingly in love. A smile comes to my lips as I think of Rose, her open affection for me and how much she likes to thoroughly kiss me just to make our friends roll their eyes and mock-gag. My girl can be quite feisty at times.

"I love you, Rosie, but I don't know what to do," I tell the empty room. My heart breaks at admitting such a failure. When married, I always wanted to make her nothing but happy and fulfill all her wishes, but I know this is something I cannot do at the present time. Everything inside of me screams it isn't the right time yet. And maybe a lot of that is my fear in actually being a father and being responsible for this whole little defenseless person.

"I love you, too, Edward," I hear whispered behind me. Though the volume of her voice is really low, I still jump in surprise. Soft laughter causes me to grab at my pounding chest and turn around in my chair.

Her golden hair is quite tangled and her eyes are red-rimmed. Makeup is smeared under her sockets and her lips are chapped while smiling wobbly, but she is still quite stunning. Even her pale cheeks with salt tracks can't distract from my girl's immense beauty. Oddly enough, in times when she looks the most organic and raw is when I find her the most beautiful. She calls to me like no other. Perhaps it is my need in wanting to protect her from anything harmful.

I don't say anything else, it is my turn to make a gesture – she is here, making the first move. Hesitantly I reach my arms out to her, not sure if she'll come to me or stay put. But oh, how I want my girl in my arms.

A few seconds of thick stillness passes before slowly she walks towards me. As she falls into my arms, causing my chair to squeak again, I know we've both swallowed our pride.

Rose's dry lips place tender kisses along the column of my neck where she's hidden her face. My arms encircle her tightly, my hands running soothingly along her back and hair. I take in her smell, her vulnerability, her love for me. Without even having to say anything, my wife has me completely enraptured with her. Just feeling her pressed against me, totally wrapped up in my body does things to me in every conceivable way.

"I am sorry, love. I hate when we fight," she mumbles into the flesh of my neck. Her hot breaths cause me to shiver in delight, but also relief that we're talking again.

I kiss the side of her temple where my lips can reach. I know how much courage it is taking my Rose to come to me and apologize. After her horrific past and the violence she's suffered, Rose hates confrontation. Slowly, with love, patience (sans this argument) and consoling, she's been able to overcome the worst of her fears and trauma. It doesn't mean we don't have relapses, but those are rare.

"Me too, Rosie," I use my special pet name for her, knowing how much she finds joy and innocence in the word.

"I really don't know what to do," I repeat my earlier admission. My voice remains as gentle and soothing as possible, along with my ministrations along her back.

"Keep holding me, Edward?"

As if she'd ever have to ask me.

I tighten my arms around her, pulling her even further into my body. The only thing penetrating our silence is the squeak of my chair, our breathing and my pulse beating in my ear.

Time passes and though I don't know how much, it doesn't really matter. As long as we clasp tightly to each other, I know we can overcome our challenges.

"I'm going to wait," I hear softly spoken, breaking the peaceful stillness.

I pull from out of my head and focus my full attention on the beautiful woman in my arms. "Wait for what? What are you talking about, Rose?"

She takes several deep breaths, her chest pushing further into mine. Again, having her pressed so intimately against me is pure heaven and torture.

"About having children right now . . ."

I go to respond, not really sure what I'm going to say, but she continues on, "I know you don't know what to do, love, but I do."

"Rosalie –"

"No, Edward," she interrupts me, but doesn't push my hand away from touching tenderly along her cheekbone. Instead she leans her cheek into my hand. I lovingly mould my hands around her face, allowing my thumbs to run along the under-seams of her eyes.

"I've been terribly unfair to you –"

"No, you haven't," I reassure her, taking my turn to interrupt. "Regardless of what you may think, it takes two of us to argue, and I'm just as guilty. I want what I do, and the same with you. I don't fault you for wanting to have children, honey. I just can't imagine it right now for us." She graciously nods her head, and I can see a real understanding this time. Not just unmitigated hurt. "I want our children to bring us closer together, not further apart."

"I know that, Edward, I just didn't want to acknowledge it. You've tried your damned to give me everything I would ever want, and I just guess I've become used to that."

I smile playfully, softly. "So you're saying I've spoiled you too much. Is that it?"

Her lips vibrate as she laughs while trying to kiss me.

"Perhaps. But that doesn't mean you have to stop trying to spoil me, love," she jests in return. "Just that I need to be as selfless and giving as you, yeah."

"You already give me so much happiness, more than I ever thought possible. Not just with you taking care of me, sharing your body with me or putting up with my long school hours; but with your patience, with your understanding and with that big selfless beating heart of yours."

An endearing wobbly smile appears over my girl's lips as glistening tears escape the confines of her eyes. I tenderly wipe them away with the pads of my thumbs.

"And I'm going to back off, love. It is the best thing I can give to you now, and I give it freely. I only ask once you finish your first year of residency we start trying. Is that a fair compromise for you?"

She leaves me speechless. Surely I thought she would want to start trying after I finish medical school, that being the latest she was willing to wait. But the gift she now hands me is quite priceless. I have no words, only my overflowing love and adoration.

Slowly, as if I was dim-witted, I nod. Soft laughter tickles my skin as her warm breath wafts over me.

"Should we seal it with a kiss?" she teases, but I'm very quick to react. My lips instantly become sealed to hers as I try to push all my thankfulness, love and appreciation into her mouth. Our kissing is quite fierce, but I know it doesn't frighten her. She only pushes me more, giving me her love back.

When I have no more air left in my lungs, I pull back, resting my forehead along hers.

"Thank you, Rosalie Cullen. Thank you." It still seems as if I'm quite speechless.

"You're more than welcome, my love. It is something I should have given you a while back, instead of dragging us into this heartache."

"No," I say, immediately finding my words. I won't allow her to take such blame. "It is my fault more than yours, and I don't want to bring it up anymore, honey. Please, no more hurting each other, yeah?"

She leans forward, forehead still touching mine, and reverently places her puffy lips to my lips. "Okay."

I take a few seconds to allow the past half-hour to wash over me and cleanse all the negativity from my body. Her priceless gift means more to me than anything I can imagine, anything besides my wife.

Thinking about how much I love her and feeling her body pressed against mine now pushes me past the brim. I am completely overcome with my affections towards her. And I plan to show her all night said affection. I hope she doesn't plan on sleep.

Without haste, I pick up my surprised wife – her squeals of joy sounding in my ear – place her over my shoulder and run towards our room.

The only thing left in my darkened office is the sound of my squeaky desk chair and the echoes of our resolved argument.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Author's Notes: Hope you liked the third installment. Part four should be up same time next week. I wanted to thank all those who read and reviewed. To those anonymous reviewers – thank you. Your lovely words brought warm tingles all the way to the soles of my feet! I can't thank you enough for the encouragement. Until next time . . . much love.


	4. Never Give It Up

Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns. No copyright infringement is meant.

**Never Give It Up**

"Remember when . . .

The sound of little feet was the music,

We danced to week to week,

Brought back the love, we found trust,

Vowed we'd never give it up,

Remember when . . ."—_Alan Jackson_

. . .

Edward's POV

.

I've often heard life is what happens between planning the next big event. I've also heard said before that life is the opposite of death. And to an extent I can understand both of these saying.

Yet while I live my life and face the challenges unique to me and my family, I can't help but come to a different conclusion.

Of course, larger events stick out in my memory quite clearly, but so do the smaller moments: my wife reading in her window seat, twirling her long golden strands of hair; holding my wife at night before falling asleep; taking a relaxing hike with my wife on the weekend; steamy showers filled with more heated loving than water; and so many more.

Life being the opposite of death is a wildly beheld belief, but I can't help wonder if people really think about _life_ in relation to death. To me, it is all one continuous round; however, when examined, birth is the opposite of death. Life . . . well, life is the filling in between. Perhaps I'm over analytical, but with tragic events shaping one's life, it's understandable.

I can't argue that my life has been richly blessed and credit goes to my parents, but most especially my wife. She is my shining light on a hill. The brightest star in my clichéd sky.

But even with all our happiness, terrible heartbreak has also come. The fallout with my parents –over my wanting to get married– was difficult; I won't lie about that. Major arguments with my wife about when to start our family also led to much anguish. Stress with my undergraduate, and trying to get into medical school put strain on me. Trying to find enough time in the day to do everything necessary and still maintain my marriage was awful.

Yet, even with these burdens pressing down on me, nothing prepared me for facing what death really was – how it actually felt to feel such hollowness, such bereavement in something joyous turned tragic.

After an ordinary night of dinner, studying and taking time to cuddle with my wife, she went to bed early, feeling overly tired and rundown. I became worried at her pronouncement, but she assured me she was fine . . .

.

"I'm just feeling more tired than usual."

"I'll come up with you, honey. I can do with some more sleep." With my second year of residency upon me, I still hardly got any sleep. Though I knew wanting to be a doctor wasn't easy, it was worth it to me. It required time, effort and much sacrifice; but I never wanted to do anything else with my life – besides marry my Rose.

"No, love. You've been waiting to see this movie for a while. You can finish watching it and then come up. I'll still be there to cuddle later." Leaning down, she gives me a sultry lingering kiss that is felt all the way to my feet. I get up to follow her anyway, but she smiles beautifully while pushing me back down. "You stay here. Mama needs her sleep. And from that look in your eyes, I wouldn't be getting any if you came along."

I feel a twitch in my lounge pants from her insinuation, but stay seated. I know my wife needs her rest. So I remove her hand lovingly cupping my cheek and press several kisses into the palm before she leaves.

As I hear her upstairs getting ready for bed and finally settling in, I can't help but think how much she adds to my dreary world. She adds the color to an otherwise grey world. A slightly goofy smile lingers on my lips for the rest of the movie.

Once the credits start to roll, I turn everything off and get a quick drink of water. I'm sure to bring up a bottle of water for my girl who sometimes gets really thirsty during the night.

As I turn the lights off along the way – the lights she's lovingly left on for me so I don't have to fumble in the dark – I can hear soft sounds coming from our master suite at the end of the hall.

Curiosity sparks my interest as I make my way towards the partially closed door. The coos get louder as I approach, and a grin overtakes my lips as I wonder if my wife is doing something naughty in my absence. It wouldn't be the first time I've caught her. Though I think she wanted me to catch her, if being honest.

The grin is quick to leave my lips as I see my girl on the floor beside the bed, bent on all fours, holding a hand to the underside of her stomach. That sight is shocking enough, combined with the noises (of what I now know to be pain) she's making. The thing which sends my heart into an uncontrollable rate, enough to almost cause me to faint, is the puddle of blood pooled around her knees and the wet dark-red stains on her sleeping pants.

Something clicks me out of my stupor as I run and drop next to my pregnant wife.

True to her word, we waited until after I graduated Med school and began my residency with our local hospital. The excitement of knowing we could begin to try and expand our family had sent my wife into sex-mode. They say trying to get pregnant is half the fun, but damn were they wrong. It was all the fun. And the positions we tried – even though some of them wouldn't get her pregnant – were indescribable.

The moment we learned she was finally realizing her ultimate goal of becoming a mother – expanding our family – was filled with slow love-making. It was a celebration of the life lying between us, safe in her warm body. It had transcended all.

But now as I try and assess the situation and watch as my Rose cries for me to save the baby, all the happiness flees, leaving me feeling cold, empty and scared shitless. Medical school and the endless amount of patients I treat everyday could never prepare me for this.

"Edward . . . the ba-baby," my wife wails. "Hurry please." Another cramp overtakes her as back bows, her arms trying to cradle the helpless life inside her.

Not really realizing what I'm doing, I immediately call for an ambulance. Thankfully, I know it won't be more than a couple of minutes; my need to live close to the hospital for work is a blessing.

Running into the bathroom, I soak a towel in cold water and hurry back to my wife. I know it won't make much difference, but I situate the towel between her legs, using it as a cold compress to try and stop the bleeding and help alleviate some of her pain. Sadly, the pain of the heart and knowing something tragic is about to happen cannot be stopped.

I don't want to be away from her for even a moment, but I run down the stairs again, switching all lights on (haphazardly) and leaving the front door open so the approaching sirens can immediately come into the house.

Once I'm by my wife's side again, I tenderly pull her into my arms, leaning her back against my chest. My arms and hands join hers in wrapping around her stomach, trying to stop the baby from coming out too soon, essentially dying.

I know we both must look a sight, covered in her now cooling blood and holding onto her small protruding stomach, but I could care less. Numerous prayers for my unborn child, but more for the safety of my wife (sad, but true), leave my lips and thoughts. I don't know where they travel or if they're heard, but I can only pray that they are.

"Up here," I yell as loudly as I dare –not wanting to frighten my wife any more– to the EMT. I place several desperate kisses along my girl's shoulder, knowing we are going to be physically separated soon.

As the EMT come in and immediately start taking over, I mourn as Rose is removed from my arms. I can see the looks of recognition on their faces. As a doctor, we often work together in transferring a patient from their care to mine. So they know me, it doesn't matter that I'm covered in my wife's blood and my face pale beyond belief.

Sadly, they also recognize Rose. Out of wanting to just do something nice, she's backed cookies for them and even hot meals. My girl's cooking is a treat well known around the hospital staff.

I wonder if it will make them try even harder to save her life. I know it shouldn't matter who the patient is, but I can't help but hope since they personally know her it will push them even harder to save the life of my bleeding wife and struggling child.

"We're ready to transport her, Edward," they efficiently tell me, but I can hear the strain under their calm words.

I snap out of my head and grab the hand of my wife as they began to take her down the stairs and to the waiting flashing lights.

The only thing I remember to do is grab a discarded sweater laying on the bench by the door from our earlier outing and shutting said door as I listlessly and warily climb into the back of the ambulance.

"You hang in there, my love," I quietly command my wife as the ambulance pulls away and start for the hospital. "You better be well, Rosalie. My life d-doesn't work without you. I don't know h-how to be without you, love."

As an afterthought, because sadly it is, I place my hand on my unborn child and say, "I love you, too, little one. Be safe and take care of mama. I love your mama so very much."

My lips find their way to my wife's clammy temple as I place kiss after kiss to her wet hair. Words of love are mumbled between kisses.

Before I even realize, we are at the hospital and the love of my life is being wheeled away from me and into a well-equipped room. My being a doctor doesn't allow me unfettered access and like any father, I have to wait for news.

I see pitying looks from the staff that recognize me, but thankfully they don't approach with platitudes. I know they would be genuine, but I can't hear any of that now. I only want to hear good news about my wife and her well-being.

After what feels like an eternity, an Emergency Obstetrician approaches me. I can see the stain and fatigue on Dr. Kate Garret's face.

Words loose meaning to me after I hear her say, "I'm sorry, Edward."

I shake my head in denial. This is the most horrid nightmare I'll soon wake up from. Rose will call me a worrywart and I'll place my hand on her small baby bump knowing our child is fine.

"Edward, we tried to save them both, but we lost . . ."

Everything looses meaning as I find it difficult to breathe. My last conscious thought is I would gladly trade places. I would do anything to trade places with my wife.

And then, everything goes blank.

.

.

Several weeks pass and it still seems unreal, like some made up movie playing continuously through my waking hours. Even having to go back to work today hasn't shaken the numbness from me.

I shut the garage door and place my lab coat in the laundry room on my way up to the master suite.

The curtains are drawn over the windows and the blackout shades I need for sleeping during the day makes it quite dark in my bedroom–turned cave.

A tiny lump is centered on the king size bed and covered with numerous sheets. I wonder if she's sleeping or still avoiding me as usual.

After Rose miscarrying and finally being discharged from the hospital, we came home to our empty house.

I had already cleaned up the bloodstains and replaced our bedding. I didn't want my girl to have physical reminders of such a tragedy.

But once we got home and I tried helping Rose up the stair (her resisting and resenting my help most of the way) I soon found out it didn't matter.

She stood in the doorway for several moments, gazing at the spot she had started to lose our child. _A little girl_ . . .

Rose didn't move for quite a while, but tears were constant as they fell from her eyes to the floor. As I went to place my hands on her shoulders, trying to take some of her pain away, she started to scream.

I helplessly watched as she ran towards our bed and started tearing the blanket, sheets, pillows and anything else nearby from the bed and nightstand.

Anguish yells tore from her throat as she all but trashed our room. And I didn't try to stop her . . . what was the point? My wife needed to grieve, and this was the outlet she found. Of course I foolishly wished my arms and love were enough to take away her agonizing pain, but it wasn't. Not even close.

Several more weeks passed with her resembling a zombie. She barely ate, barely slept, barely bathed, barely acknowledged me, barely lived . . . barely breathed. Her grief had trumped everything, including her will to live.

In the rare times she spoke, accusations were heralded at me, "This is your fault, EDWARD! You didn't WANT our child! I heard YOU in the ambulance! You didn't want our bab . . ." her voice would break before endless sobs took over.

I could do nothing but take what she wanted to give me. I could yell back and say it was all untrue, which it was, but I didn't. What was the point?

.

.

It wasn't until five months of horror, pain and endless torment passed before something vital broke in my wife.

After answering a surprised knock at the door, I stared in awe at Rosalie's mom, seemingly sober, standing at our front door. I wordlessly ushered her in, not really knowing what to say.

"Hey, Edward. I take it my daughter didn't let you know I'd be coming?" Her question didn't require an answer. My shock at seeing her said it all. However, with that shock also came great hurt. Time and time again, I had tried begging my wife to talk to me, to go to consoling with me, but she refused. And to know she called her mom, the woman she didn't really get along with, was quite telling.

_My wife didn't love me anymore . . . she hated me_ . . .

I showed Lillian where her daughter was resting before grabbing a coat and leaving the house. I needed to be alone with my crushing feelings and moral.

Taking several passes along a jogging trail, I had several realizations: firstly, if Rosalie asked me for a divorce, I didn't know if I could ever grant it to her. My life couldn't work without her; secondly, if my wife didn't love me anymore, what was the point in still trying; thirdly, none of those things mattered, because somehow I would push beyond all this heartbreak and get my wife back.

I didn't feel any better after my time alone, but my head and heart were clearer.

When I got home and started my way up toward our (thankfully) shared bedroom, soft voices washed over me.

I should have turned around and left them to their privacy, but it had been entirely too long since I heard my wife's sweet, soft voice. I was a thirsty man that had to take a drink.

So guiltily, I listened, and what I heard floored me.

"You have to stop this, Rosalie," her mom was saying. "You are beyond lucky to have such a man. He'd do anything for you."

"You only like his money and family name," Rosalie said harshly. And whether that was true or not – it was uncalled for.

I could hear Lillian swallowing the hurt as she admitted, "That may have been true at first, baby, but after seeing your love for each other . . . hell, just seeing his love for you has changed me. You can't be near you two for one minute without seeing how much that boy loves you."

It was silent and I wondered if Lillian was sitting by my wife, tenderly pushing strands of hair from her eyes, or awkwardly standing near her daughter. I so wanted to see, but kept my distance, allowing them a modicum of privacy.

"I know, mom," I finally heard my wife squeak. Several deep breathes left my chest in a rush . . . Rose still realized how much I loved her . . . adored her, really.

"Then why are you treating him like someone's dirty trash? Why are you blaming him instead of sharing your pain?" Something I wondered myself.

"I-I . . . It isn't that easy –"

"To hell with that, girl!" I wanted to rush in and yell at Lillian for upsetting my wife, but I stood my ground. Rosalie didn't want my help. "That boy has been your punching bag for months, and still he stays here and loves you."

I didn't know about the punching bag part, but I still did love my wife . . . more than myself.

"Your daddy wouldn't have put up with that for one day yet alone five months. His leaving us was proof of that, baby."

Deep, sad sobs could be heard and I know they were my wife's.

Listlessly, I slid down the wall and buried my head between my bent knees. I wondered if this pain would ever pass, if things would ever be close to normal again. All I knew for the last half year was pain, regret and lack of sleep. The only saving grace –sadly– was my work and helping my patients to heal and progress in their recoveries.

My mother-in-law's voice broke through my sadness as I tuned back in, helplessly listening to what she said, "I know it hurts, baby. Mama knows. But you have to let it go. YOU have to let it go."

"H-how?" Rose feebly asked through her gasping breaths.

"By starting to let your man in. Let your husband be a part of your pain, Rose. Like he wants to. Stop pushing him away! Stop blaming him! Stop punishing him, baby. Mourn for your child together. He lost her . . . just as much as you, Rose. Start by letting him in and everything else will follow. Everything else will follow, baby."

My silent sobs joined my wife's as I took in what her mom said. Sadly I didn't know about my mother-in-law and the fact that she had been sober for a couple of years. I sent money to her every now and then, despite Rose's objections, but I hadn't known she was sober. I simply wanted to help her out, with what little I could offer. Lillian had at least supported us wanting to get married, _unlike my parents_.

But as her words of wisdom washed over me, I could feel a warm love for her starting to blossom. It was wonderful to feel something positive for my family, and I clung to it.

Even long after my wife's sobs had quieted and Lillian joined me in the hallway, gently patting my head, I still clung to that small bulb of hope. An unknown Calvary had come, and it was in the wisdom of my wife's mother. Who knew mother-in-laws weren't evil, after all.

.

.

It only took several days to pass before Rose approached me on my next night off. Being a second year resident, I was allotted a little more (little being the operative word) time off, and it was on such a night that my wife approached me.

The house was settling in for the night, and I could still hear Lillian cleaning up the kitchen after a very delicious meal, humming terribly off-tune. I now knew where Rose's wonderful cooking talents came from – and not so wonderful singing ability.

"Edward?" I heard hesitantly spoken behind me. Without haste, I dropped my case files and turned toward my girl. Even with losing too much weight and her hair unwashed, she was breathtaking.

I turned my dining chair around so I could drink in this moment. I couldn't remember the last time she had spoken so kindly towards me.

"Yes, Rosie?" I replied, using her precious pet name so she wouldn't think I was mad at her.

Perhaps I had a right to be, but I couldn't find it buried anywhere inside me. I only wanted and craved her love and affection. We could weather anything else thrown at us if I had her love.

"Do you mind terribly if I talked to you?"

I didn't mind in the damned least.

"Of course not, Rose. You can talk to me whenever. It's the yelling I can't take," I tell her honestly. Though I try to be gentle, I can't sugarcoat everything for her – advice given to me by mother-in-law dearest.

"I know, and for that I'm sorry. More than you'll ever know." My heart told me she spoke the truth.

I wanted to reach out and take her into my arms, but she had to make the move. I couldn't do it for her.

"I know, love."

She looked up at my tender words, giving me a half-smile. I wondered if it hurt her cheeks, seeing as she hadn't smiled in quite some time.

"Um, well . . . the thing is." She played restlessly with her fingers, probably not knowing what else to do. It hurt to see my quiet girl fumbling so badly, and it wasn't in me to see her struggling helplessly. I wasn't built to see her falter.

"What do you want to tell me the most, Rose?" I asked very softly. "Just tell me what's in your heart."

"Um . . . well, it was so unfair of me, Edward. EVERYTHING. The way I hurt you . . . shut you out . . . blamed you for the death of our child. It was so unfair of me. And I'm sorry. I am so very, very sorry and if you never forgive me I'd understand. But I love you. Please . . . I hope you know that."

And with those words, I was off my chair and pulling her, my everything, into my empty arms. To hell with making her do everything! She had taken enough steps by herself. It was time for us to grieve the loss of our child, our relationship and all the sadness together.

Heavily Rose fell into my arms while encircling hers around my neck. Her hold was tight and even hurt me a little, but I didn't care. I would hurt ten thousand times more if it meant having this woman in my arms. She was my life and I couldn't live it without her.

As we sank to the ground and cried together, I could feel some of it starting to slide away. I knew our grief wouldn't magically be repaired and it would take time for all the sadness, bitterness and forgiveness to work its way through our family, but we were starting again.

We were holding each other and allowing our pain to be felt together.

I don't know how long we sat there that night, or remember all the words we said in love, but I would never forget the tender smile Lillian gave to me as she slipped out the kitchen and then the front door. I knew she would soon be back, but she was giving us the night to be together and grieve in private.

It was through this experience that I learned birth was the opposite of death. Yes, we had lost our unborn little girl (who we later named Lillium), and she never got to live life, but she lived in the heart of her mommy and daddy. And not a day passed that I don't think about her or wonder where she was.

It was another small moment in my life – thinking about her and where she might have been – that stuck in the forethought of said life.

The big moments were often beautiful, but I cherished the time in between even more. The thing called _life_.

Hardships and all wove the _tapestry of my life_.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Five years later

–

As my eyes blink open I spy a sliver of sun on the hardwood floor. It brings a smile to my face. I can't help feeling awfully happy, and yes, disgustingly sappy – even over something as "mundane" as a sliver of sunlight.

My muscles groan as I start to move and stretch them. For some reason, I'm feeling sore and heavy. And perhaps some of it can be attributed to the long session of sex that my wife and I got up to most of the night, but that's nothing new.

Moving as much as I can, I start to realize why my movement is limited and my back feels extra hot. Last night (or more like the wee hours of the morning after being totally sate and drained) I had fallen asleep on my back, with Rose already gone.

But lying on my stomach, face pressed into my pillow, and only a small portion of the bed holding my body, I grin.

Lying on my back, totally splayed out is my three-and-a-half-year-old son, Nicholas. _The light of our life_.

Though he's reserved and quiet-spoken, Nick sleeps quite the opposite. He loves to spread out and fling his limbs every which way, taking up as much room as possible.

And now with him weighting heavily on my back, overheating me, and taking up most of the room, I smile even wider.

My life could be utterly different and could have gone another way, but it hasn't. And for that I smile.

Slight whimpers leave his lips as I turn over and lay my son on my chest, marveling at the healthy beat of his heart and his flushed cheeks. Like her son, Rose is spread out over the remaining amount of bed, which is most of it to begin with. Her tangled hair is spilled into her eyes and over her pillow. Parted, swollen lips allow her slight snores to be heard. My girl really only snores when we've been quite active and she's beyond wiped out.

My fingers move through my son's thick hair, smoothing out the baby-fine strands. Nick's hair is neither blond nor copper like mine. It is a strange mix of the two. But when light hits it, he looks like a new shiny penny. He often smiles softly when his mother calls him her lucky penny, knowing where the nickname comes from.

The last five years of my life have been the best. Again, my family has had its challenges, but we've persevered.

I've even reconciled some with my parents. After Nicholas Anthony Cullen was born, Rose took it upon herself to try and bridge the gap. The fact that she did it behind my back made me truly angry.

It took me several weeks to forgive her, but eventually I did, knowing she only thought of our life having more room to love and wanting to forgive my parents.

It took over a year before the anger and resent I felt towards them start to melt. They were totally enamored with their grandson and saddened about the news of their granddaughter Lillium. But I knew they loved her just as much.

Their ready and available love towards my children caused me real pain. I couldn't understand why they were so openly accepting yet had turned their back on me – their only son.

It took me time, but eventually I was able to push away most of my anger towards them. That didn't mean there wasn't a stiffness between us. At times, when I saw how much they showered Nick with love, I would feel the old wound throb, but I'd push it away. I didn't want that hatred in my life, weighting me down any longer.

Unsurprisingly, it had been Lillian who really helped me to see beyond my anger. "Edward, baby," she said, "the world is a crazy ass place. And no matter how much you learned in your fancy doctor college, it won't help you with this."

I couldn't help but laugh at her brusque voice and no-holds-barred wisdom. "The heart is something we'll never understand and often overrules our brains. As it should be. But I think mostly what we'll never understand is the emotions our heart produces. Your fancy college says it hormonal chemicals or whatever that produces our feelings. But I say bullshit! It may be scientific mumbo-jumbo, but we are living, breathing creatures and allowed to feel what we feel, baby. But as I told my Rosalie, don't let the anger and bitterness overwhelm you."

"If it were only that easy, Lillian." A smack to the back of my head caused me to cry out in surprise. "What was that for?" I asked, rubbing the thumping in my head.

"It isn't that easy, boy. And never will it be. But you have to push, constantly always pushing. Do you think I don't want a drink every day of my life? You don't think I crave alcohol like the damn air?"

I was speechless, unable to answer. But I knew she was correct.

"But I push, Edward. And I push, until I go another moment with overcoming the longing. My life, my family and my sobriety are worth it. Not to mention my new little grandbaby." She cracks a pretty smile.

"It's the same with your parents. I know you're angry and want to punish them, but don't, baby. Be different then they were. Be the bigger person, and keep pushing until one day the anger will be nothing but a memory."

"You're quite wise, Lillian," I say laughing, this time dodging her hand trying to smack my head again. "I know where my wife may get it from."

She laughs at me, this time clipping me by my ear, but it is hardly felt.

"And don't you forget it, boy. But my Rosalie is smarter and so much wiser than her mama." She looks sadly wistful before it all falls away for a shining proud smile. "So much wiser, Edward."

My face is pushed into her hair as Lillian's arms wrap around my waist. I can all but feel her love flowing into me, and I understand what she means by her daughter being smarter. The words, "she chose you, after all" are left unspoken between us, but makes me happy.

"'Pease no 'ore, daddy," I hear sleepily mumbled, pulling me from my memory. "You hurt m'hair." Chuckles leave my mouth and rumbles in my chest. Even sleeping my Nick is sweetly and softly spoken.

"Daddy is sorry, buddy." I let my fingers sweep once more through his hair before pulling them away. I wouldn't want to hurt his hair anymore.

Several kisses are dropped to his head as I turn over and unabashedly stare at my wife. Sometime in the night, she must have put my shirt on because all I can see are her creamy thighs sticking out. My tongue begs me to start licking, but with Nick lying on my chest, I can't fulfill its wish. Not that I didn't last night – several times.

I push the delicious thoughts from my mind and look down once more to my son, silently thinking about how blessed I am.

Large violet eyes are staring at me, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. I can tell he is still tired, but he's happy to be snuggling with daddy.

"Mommy said I could, daddy," Nick explains why he's in our bed; though he knows I won't get mad. He's just thoughtful and likes to explain his actions. "I wanted cuddles."

A loving grin splits my lips as I stare down at my light, one of my reasons for living.

"I know, buddy. And it's fine. Daddy likes cuddles, too. But mommy takes up all the room and pushes me away." Soft laughter leaves his mouth at my conspiratorial whispers.

"She sleeps crazy, daddy," he explains thoughtfully. "And we give mommy room. She 'serves it after putting up with us men. Nana says so." Oh, his beloved Nana's words of wisdom.

I bite my tongue so I don't laugh at his quiet explanation. Because he is quite serious in his explanation.

"Yes, mommy does work hard for our family and we love her because of it. We are blessed, my Nick. And even more so to have you in our life."

I pull him closer to my body and kiss his baby-plump cheek. He'll soon lose his baby-fat and for that I'm sad. Rose and I may have to start working on child number three. Thinking of my baby girl causes my heart to clinch, but it is in love. I hope she is well and waiting for mommy and daddy wherever she is.

Nicholas buries his face in my neck while winding his arms around me. My sweet, shy boy.

"Love you, daddy," he whispers, sending my heart overflowing.

As I cling to him, I can't help but think of where Rose and I have been and where we'll go in the future.

But for now, our son's footsteps is the music we will dance our life to.

.

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><p>.<p>

Author's Notes: Sorry for the long wait! I hope you liked the chapter – even though it had its hard moments. Thanks to those who reviewed last chapter. It really means a lot! Until next time . . . hugs.


	5. Do it All Again

Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns. No copyright infringement is meant. Note: **Happy Halloween**. I wanted to give you a little reading candy, so I hope you enjoy this bonus chapter.

**Do it All Again**

_"Remember when …_

_Thirty seemed so old,_

_Now lookn' back,_

_It's just a steppin' stone,_

_To where we are,_

_Where we've been,_

_Said we'd do it all again,_

_Remember when …"—Alan Jackson _

. . .

Rosalie's POV

. .

I try not to groan as I slip my heels from my feet. Six inches is really too high. I wonder when it was that Halloween changed from something fun and innocent to something kinky. It isn't that I mind dressing up sexily, or showing some tasteful skin; it's all but required these days.

But what makes me really sad is seeing young girls dressing with hardly anything on. It almost sounds like an oxymoron; I don't understand how they come to the conclusion that they have to leave little to the imagination. It doesn't make them one iota less beautiful if they cover more of their skin. In fact, I think it makes them even more gorgeous. But that is just me, and perhaps my thinking is shaped from my past experiences.

Regardless of my errant thoughts, it doesn't help the aching in my feet. Though I've been dreading the party our neighbors hosted, it was quite fun. Acting like we were young again, despite my advanced age, Edward and I had danced almost the entire party. My husband's arms had stayed securely around my waist, always keeping me within reach.

"How could I not want you close, love?" he had whispered hotly in my ear, "You drive me past distraction in that outfit."

I giggled like a teen with a crush, trying to stop my blush, "That's the purpose. I just hope nurses don't dress quite this provocatively at your work. You may have to quit."

He all but purred in my ear, licking my lobe, "As if there would ever be any competition to you."

The blush I had been fighting bloomed ten-fold. After all our years of marriage, Edward still had the ability to cause me shy-embarrassment. I knew it was something he still reveled in, _the scoundrel_.

"You trying to sweet-talk me into the sack?" I asked teasingly. My hubby loved when I teased.

"You offering?" he countered.

"You up for it?"

He pushed his hips further into mine, as if I hadn't _felt_ him already. My man had been up for it all night – literally. "You tell me . . ."

The quivering sigh leaving my lips was enough answer for him. His soft, silky laugh caused Goosebumps to erupt everywhere.

Suffice it to say, we had only stayed ten more minutes before making our hasty yet polite exit.

Edward had nearly pulled off my arm as he directly us to our car. My laughter had left in cold, puffy clouds from my mouth.

I can still feel the giddiness of the night sizzling in my veins. It feels so wonderfully delicious, despite my aching feet.

"You look so scrumptious in that get-up, love. Have I told you that yet?" If his smirk gets any bigger, I fear his head will fall into his mouth.

"You don't think the outfit was too on the nose, with you being a doctor and all?"

He brings our twined hands to his lips, giving gentle kisses to my fingers. "Who the hell cares?" I giggle. "When you look as delicious as you do, I should have hid you from everyone."

I playfully swat his arm. He gives several more kisses to my fingers before dropping our hands back to the gear shift.

We drive the minute remaining to our home in silence. There really isn't much to say. Our lingering looks and familiar touches are enough. I know when we get home, pay the babysitter and get to our room, the night will _truly_ begin.

As Edward pulls into the garage, I wait for him to open my door. When we had first started dating, I thought it weird that he always wanted to open my door for me. My self-esteem had been at an all time low, then. But he had explained that I was a lady and it didn't matter what anyone thought or what time we lived in. It had taken me a while to accept his gallantry behavior. But after all these years, it is now second nature and something I still love about him.

After I get out, he gently pushes me against the closed car door and lines his body against me. His lips close sensuously over mine; tasting every inch his tongue can reach. My soft mewls sound weak even to my own ears. They match the strength of my knees, however . . . as clichéd as that sounds. But I define anyone to be kissed by my man and not get weak knees; he is _that_ damn talented.

"Baby," I moan around our dancing tongues, "inside. Bed. You with nothing on but me. Now!"

His husky laugh fills the slight space now between our swollen lips. "As you command, love."

I give one last nip to his bottom lip before gently pushing him away and through the garage door.

While he goes upstairs, taking my absurd shoes with him, I go to wake up the babysitter sleeping on the couch,

The girl is good at her job, but can annoy me. Whenever she's around my husband, she can't help but to stare at him. To be honest I can't blame the girl, but it usually makes Edward uncomfortable. He feels as if she's trying to forge some mental connection with him. He said she was creepy, I said she was young and impressionable, if not a little annoying.

Gently shaking her awake and waiting for her to collect herself, I quietly thank her for coming over on Halloween of all nights.

"It's no problem, Mrs. Cullen. I didn't really have any plans." I can see the blush staining her cheeks and wonder if she has any friends. Often I see her walking alone, not really going anywhere. My heart breaks a little for her, but as she opens her mouth and bashfully asks, "Did Dr. Cullen already go up to bed?" I feel my exasperation start up.

_She's young_, I remind myself, _and_ _Edward is terribly distracting_.

"Yes, Bella. It's quite late," I whisper as nicely as possible. I give her a hundred dollars, throwing in extra money for her giving up her Halloween night, and dealing with my little monsters.

"Oh, well, thanks, Mrs. Cullen." Trying not to rush her too much, I walk Bella to the front door and walk out with her.

"I hope Nick and the twins weren't too much trouble." It isn't really needed, with Nick. My boy is too well-behaved for his own good. Edward and I got lucky with him. The twins . . . well, they're a different story.

"Not at all. He is so sweet and he didn't even put up a fuss when it was bedtime." An indulgent smile is quick to spread over her face. It's a face I've come to acquaint with my beautiful son. "The twins were good, too."

_I bet they were_, I can't help but mischievously think. I'll have to grill the cuties in the morning, but for now, I'm anxious for her to leave.

"Glad to hear that, Bella. Well, have a good night and thanks again."

"Tell Dr. Cullen I said goodnight, please." And with that she yawns as she walks across the street to her home.

I watch the entire time, making sure she gets all the way in her house. My past has left too many indelible nightmares on me not to. It doesn't matter that I am irritated with the girl and her infatuation with Edward; I put her safety above my pettiness.

Thankfully, with her home and the house silent, I make my way upstairs, planning to have my wicked way with my hubby.

A soft light brightens up the rest of my darkened bedroom as I shut the door. I can hear Edward puttering around the bathroom, doing who knows what. All I do know is that he better be plenty naked. I want to see all his glorious tanned flesh, taste it under my tongue and feel it under my wandering fingers. I can already feel his quivers as I imagine the well-known trails my fingers will take.

As I turn from the en-suite and head for my closest, I start to remove my costume. With it barely covering my ass, I am happy to shed it. Being thirty-two, I feel a little old to be wearing something so revealing. I know it isn't really an issue in our society, but still I feel too exposed.

After undoing two buttons only, I feel hands snake around my waist, quickly stopping my hands from continuing. Anticipated shivers run the length of my spine; my heart rate increases to the point of where I feel breathless.

"Starting without me?" he hisses fervently in my ear. My skin breaks out in bumps, sending deliciously cold tremors over my flesh. His lips attach to my neck, gently sucking on a spot he knows can send me over the edge.

"A-and if I w-were?" I embarrassingly stutter. Edward's husky laughter sizzles my wet skin where his lips are still sucking.

"You know what . . ." His hands leave my wrists, and wantonly grabs onto my hard tips. Helplessly, I push back into him, reveling in the feel of his hands on my breast, massaging them. I reach behind me and tangle my fingers into his hair, grasping the strands between my fists. His lower hips press firmly into my backside, rubbing so lasciviously against me.

His lips return to my neck, leaving wet, open-mouth kisses everywhere he touches. Nimble fingers start where I left off and achingly slowly undo's the button of my barely there dress.

"So damn sexy," my man murmurs against the shell of my ear, lightly biting the corner of my jaw. I whimper.

"Want you so damn bad." Another few buttons come undone, his fingers swirls around my exposed navel.

"Should be criminal how fucking sexy you are." This time, I have to clasp my thighs together, trying to create _something_ happening between them.

I'm not one for swearing, but get Edward and I naked with him talking dirty, and I all but fall to pieces. His dirty mouth does things to me that would make a priest blush.

"You going to ride me, baby," my husband half-asks, half-commands. Sadly my past can create triggers within me. It hasn't happened in a long time, but my loving man is still mindful not to set them off. He doesn't make anything sound like it's beyond my control, making me feel only safe and downright sex kitten.

"Always, Edward," I whimper, loving the sound of his name on my tongue.

Finally, _finally_, he undoes the last button and pushes the costume from my shoulders. His hot lips replace where the fabric rested, tasting the salt and sweat from all our dancing. I want to warn him about my taste, but he is already feasting on my skin, his hands cupping my tits over my red, lacy demi-bra.

I push further into him, this time weaving my arms around his trim hips; I want him as close to me as possible. The skin from his taunt chest feels like hot silk against my naked back.

With several deep moans leaving my throat and Edward hands now roughly massaging my tits, I know we are both there.

Usually we would indulge in hot foreplay, and my man wouldn't hardly even enter me until I had at least one orgasm by his sinful mouth, but we are both past that. Our scandalous dancing and grinding tonight is foreplay enough. I've been wanting, _achingly waiting_ to feel my man thrusting between my thighs for hours. I'm past ready for my body to explode around his, bringing us both to a resounding completion.

"Enough," I all but grunt. Taking matters into my hands, I turn around and push Edward towards our king bed. That too will be getting quite the work out tonight.

As we stumble towards the bed, trying to touch all our exposed skin and kiss each other to death, Edward somehow finds the skill to undo my bra, too. My breasts feel heavy as my support falls to the ground but is replaced with my man's talented hands.

Thankfully, Edward's knees finally hit the back of the bed, sending him tumbling down. Usually this would elicit a smile from him, but we are both too far gone. His hands are quick to grab for me standing over him, bringing me down to his waiting body.

My tits happily are squished against Edward's chest and my legs straddling either side of his hips as his hands find their way into the back of my underwear, kneading my checks.

Though all of his touching feels amazing, and we are both already sweaty, I need more. Without even waiting for more, I tear down his boxer-briefs as far as I can, exposing him to me. His length's already leaking and quite red looking. I bite my bottom lip in anticipation. He's beyond damn sexy.

Quickly, my patience is wearing thin to have him deep inside me, I give his member a few loving strokes; I know how much he loves to feel my warm fingers wrapped around him. And though I love pleasuring him with both my mouth and hands, I know he understands my urgency. His eyes tell me as much. They are burning with need.

Edward seems to read my beautifully as he all but pushes my lacy underwear to the side and pulls me up to his barely unclothed cock. I don't need any encouragement as I finally, finally, allow my knees to hit the bed as I gloriously sink down onto my husband.

The only thing going through my mind is the thought of how long it seems that he's been inside me. We might not be teenagers anymore, but we still love having sex late into the night.

A fulfilled sigh leaves both of our mouths simultaneously as he fills me completely. We take a few seconds to bask in being so close – the closest a couple can be.

Pushing back my sweaty hair, I start to rotate my hips, trying to get my man as deep inside me as possible. Heavy groans leave his mouth as he tightly shuts his eyes, reveling in my ministrations. His hands grasp my hips as he urges me to start moving. Gladly I oblige, pass my endurance.

Little moans escape my parted lips as I try to fill my lungs with oxygen. Everything around me is spinning as I rock back and forth atop my husband. Sweat rolls down my back as his hands tighten all the more on my hips.

Thrust for thrust we meet each other, trying to get each other to that supernal place where everything else fades, besides the frantic beat of one's heart, the blinding light behind one's eyes and the euphoric joy one only finds in utter abandon.

"Ride me, baby," my husband breathlessly encourages. One hand leaves my hip and finds its way to my sweaty breast. I welcome him there, place my hand over his, helping him to knead me. "Love me . . . endlessly."

I can't help but gasp helplessly at his beautiful words. "Always," I whimper, unable to get more words pass the lump in my throat and the wildness snapping in my veins. "Always, Edward."

Nothing else is said as we continue to take the utmost pleasure from each other's body. It doesn't matter how often we've done this, or how much I've had my man's cock inside me, it always sends me into such passionate fits.

I grind into him with even more vigor. My hips and body are franticly moving at a pace that is unsteady and graceless. Edward pushes so deep into me that I swear, as terribly trite as it sounds, that I literally see stars.

And it's enough . . . _it is enough_.

I take one last deep breath as my tummy clenches, my sticky thighs tighten around his hips and my back arches into oblivion. _It's beyond enough_.

I can think nothing but how complete I feel and how amazing my husband feels finishing inside me. Through my bliss I can barely hear him grunt as he pushes ever so deeply in me and stays.

We are both stilled as I fall onto his chest and breathe heavily. His heart pounds healthily into my ear; his sweat cools on my face and chest.

Slight quivers still work through our bodies, ringing out the last bit of pleasure.

It takes me a few minutes of calming down and snuggling close to my man before I can begin to think about moving. Edward can take me beyond anything that should be legal.

Tenderly, I turn my head and place my swollen lips to his slowing heart. With several opened-mouth kisses placed there, I can't help but give him all the love flowing from my heart to his. With him still inside me, I feel utterly full: full of adoration and the deepest affections of my soul.

"Love you hopelessly, Edward," I mumbled into his beating skin. They are the truths of my heavy heart. "Endlessly."

I don't know where he finds the strength, but he cups his hands under my arms and pulls my face closer to his. However, he's careful to stay seated inside me. It feels squirmy when he does that, but I still want him there; it's the closest we ever are.

His lips feel like cool, refreshing water as he places them on mine. The dance of our lips is slow as we take the time to sample each other, to taste the other, to drink each other.

"Love you, too," he hums between licks to my mouth. "You were the best decision I've ever made, love."

Tears are quick to prickle at my eyes because of his beautiful words and the fervor in his gaze. Though his words are unexpected, they pull so exquisitely at my heart.

"You, too, Edward." I give a solemn kiss to his forehead. Our hearts beat together, almost in sync, as if they can feel the immensity of the moment. I nuzzle my cheek to his, placing my lips to his ear. I whisper, "If I had to do it over again, I'd be right by your side, still, never wanting to leave you."

My man pulls me impossibly closer to his chest, blanketing me in his embrace. His fingers tangle in my hair as he urges my lips back to his. Gently his hips start moving again, pushing his hardening length inside me.

I can only moan at everything.

My eyes shut as I bury my face in the crevice of his neck. We move together exquisitely.

After years of marriage, hardships, learning curves and happiness beyond description, I continually find myself falling for my husband. The love we started our lives with has only strengthened. And though we've battled our demons, we've withstood them in the face of adversity.

And there is no one – _absolutely no one I'd rather be with_. I love my husband, my children and everything they bring to my life more than anything.

_Happily_, I'd do it over again.

And with Edward still moving inside me . . . _again and again_. I can't help but smile.

.

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><p>.<p>

Author's Notes: Hoped you liked my little treat. I hadn't intended to write this chapter, but I wanted to give you guys a little taste of Rosalie and some sweetness on Halloween. It's only fitting … lol. And if the lemon is bad, sorry. I don't write them too well (:can only shrug shoulders:).

Thanks to those who reviewed last chapter; you bring continual smiles to my face and heart. Until next time, much love. And be sure to eat loads of candy. It's the one time not to feel too guilty for indulging (:wink:).


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